


Till the Embers Smoke on the Ground

by calrissian18



Series: this shouldn't even be here [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, M/M, Memory Loss, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pre-Slash, tumblr!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 11:44:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calrissian18/pseuds/calrissian18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek doesn’t remember Stiles, but his wolf does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Till the Embers Smoke on the Ground

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [До тлеющей золы](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7124509) by [Otter_DM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otter_DM/pseuds/Otter_DM)



> This whole series will be unrelated, unbeta'd ficlets originally posted on my [tumblr](http://wellhalesbells.tumblr.com/). I was asked to move them over to AO3 for ease of navigation and I am an agreeable butthead - even though these don't pass the standards for 'fic' in my mind - but here we all are regardless!
> 
> [Original post](http://wellhalesbells.tumblr.com/post/59388142441/im-just-going-to-leave-this-here).

It was almost funny when Derek came to and immediately wolfed out ‘cause, wow, dramatic much?  And Stiles could have been wrong but, no, he wasn’t.  Derek’s eyes were  _blue_.  Again.  When the fuck did that happen?  He’d only been out of Beacon Hills for a few weeks.

“Dude, chill out,” he said with a snort.

Derek chose to do the opposite.  Because he was such an easy-going, laid-back kind of guy.  He backed away, snarling, his eyes darting around the room like a cornered predator.

Stiles rolled his eyes.  This was above his pay grade and he was thankful he wasn’t the one who had to deal with this.

Cora stepped up and she was softer and gentler than she’d ever been towards Derek, at least in Stiles’ presence.  Apparently they’d finally crossed off at least one of the zillion bonding seshes they needed.  “Derek.”

Derek’s eyes flashed blue and he hunched lower, rumbling out, “Who the hell are you?”

Right.  Yeah.  That was not a good.

So, yeah, it was a big deal or whatever.  Derek had lost all memory of who he was and who they were.  It was interesting for three seconds because like how humans just  _knew_  they were human and what went along with that, there was no Werewolf Freak Out because Derek had been born with it just like the rest of them were born not-werewolf so, right, kind of interesting there.  But now Stiles was  _bored_.  Boooooooored out of his fucking mind.  Deaton was explaining how Derek’s memories weren’t blocked by any supernatural means and it was a waiting game now and Stiles was  _bored_.  He wasn’t really sure why he and Scott were even still  _here_.

He popped up as one of Deaton’s long-winded, entirely uninformative information downloads winded down and looked to Scott.  He thought saying, ‘Sucks to be you,’ might be inconsiderate even for an asshole like him so he curbed the impulse.  He cleared his throat and glanced to Cora rather than Peter.  “I think Scott and I will be heading out now.  You’ve got, ah, more than enough on your plate.”  Right, he probably shouldn’t be doing that obnoxious little grin right now.  Serious.   _Serious_  moment here.  Not a ‘sucks to be you’ moment.  He looked to Scott and frowned a little.  Serious.  “If you need anything, don’t hesitate.”

Cora rolled her eyes but she couldn’t hide that it had been the right thing to say.  Stiles knew, because he so rarely said that thing.

He’d almost forgot about the whole amnesiac-on-their-hands situation when Derek stood up and growled, eyes flashing, “ _You’re_  not going anywhere.”

Stiles pointed to himself, furrowing his forehead.  That had been asshole-Derek up and down the line.  Had Deaton fixed him while he was zoning out?  He looked to Scott but he was standing there like someone had held a tennis ball in front of his face and then fake-threw it and he’d run off and looked and looked and come back tennis ball-less to his complete bewilderment.  Stiles resisted the urge to dig a hand into his ridiculous mop of hair and scratch behind his ears.

Derek stalked over to him, leaned forward so his head was hovering above Stiles’ shoulder and inhaled deeply.  He leaned back with a huff of a laugh and crossed his arms over his chest.  “You’re the only one my wolf seems to trust not to try to murder me.”

Stiles’ eyebrows met up with his hairline.  But Derek was dead. Fucking.  Serious.  That was not okay and Stiles jerked his thumb over his shoulder.  Which, the way he was standing, wasn’t actually in the direction of the door but.  Yeah.  Got the point across hopefully.  “I’ve got to get home.  My dad,  _the Sheriff_ , a man very recently apprised of werewolves, yeah, he doesn’t really let me out of his sight for more than fifteen minutes if he can get away with it.”

Derek nodded and said simply, “Then I’m coming with you.”

Stiles laughed, loudly.  “No… kay,” he finished with a wince as Derek’s fangs lengthened past his lips, claws sprouting over his elbows.

Great.

It was like old times when Stiles greeted his father (having dropped Scott back at his first) and then went upstairs to find Derek standing in his bedroom having climbed in through his window.  Derek dropped down on the edge of his bed and picked up one of his shirts curiously.

Which wasn’t weird even at all.  Stiles tried to smile to show how very super normal that was.

Derek looked up at him, eyes burning with intensity.  “What are you to me?”

Stiles froze.  That was the question, wasn’t it?  They weren’t friends.  They weren’t enemies.  They weren’t nothing.  Stiles was fairly sure they could never be  _nothing_.  No, Derek was definitely something to him.  It was defining what that something was that had always surpassed his abilities.  What could he say that wouldn’t sound like he was telling Derek that he was completely friendless and alone?  ‘Someone who cares if you live or die’ might have sounded good, and was true to boot.  He made himself stare at the naked vulnerability in Derek’s eyes.  He licked his lip and decided, “An ally.”

It didn’t look like that had been what Derek had wanted to hear.  But still what he had expected.  Stiles wasn’t sure what to make of that.  Derek clenched his jaw and told him gruffly, stiffly, “I don’t feel any connection to them.  Their scent—I know it  _means_  family but,” he stopped and Stiles guessed he was having as difficult a time finding the right word for Cora and Peter as Stiles had for what  _they_  were, “it’s not…  _right_ ,” he settled on finally, but he looked unhappy, like it didn’t fit what he felt exactly.  He glanced back at Stiles and admitted so easily, “I’m closer to you than I am to them, to any of them.”

Stiles swallowed and sat down next to Derek on his bed.  He shrugged his shoulders and explained, “Cora’s been absent for years and I’m pretty sure you thought she was dead.  She showed up kind of out of nowhere so wary… yeah, that seems like an appropriate reaction.  Peter.  I’m not even going to go into that because I’m not going to let you waste this reprieve of being memory-whammied when it comes to him.  We’re going to let you hold onto that void for as long as you can.”

Derek stared down at the plaid overshirt he was gently twisting between his fingers and smiled.

It was odd.

Stiles tapped his fingers on the knee of his jeans to avoid the impulse to stare openly and unblinkingly at the unburdened smile on Derek Hale’s face.  Despite the fact that this might be his one and only chance to see the disappearing phenomena.

He cleared his throat, stretched out his legs and pulled down the knees of his jeans.  “Isaac is your beta—or I guess  _was_  seeing as the blue eyes are back, which, yeah, haven’t gotten the full story on that.”

He glanced at Derek but his face was as blank as ever so Stiles doubted the memory loss was a smokescreen.  He shrugged.  “Guess I won’t know now if you don’t wise up seeing as Peter’s a liar so, even if he told me the true story, I wouldn’t believe it and Cora isn’t exactly the type to gossip with me about her big brother.  Anyway, _Isaac_.  He’s pretty much closer to Scott these days.  And your relationship with Scott is more one-sided, you try to talk him into being pack and he scoffs and rides his moped off into the sunset.”

Derek snorted at that because making fun of Scott was still fun, even when you didn’t really know who Scott was.  He was just so happy and smile-y and puppyish and, yeah, assholes like Derek and Stiles had to poke at that every once in a while or else the niceness would make them want to crawl out of their skin.  Or maybe that was just Stiles.

“Allison’s the daughter of a hunter so, yeah, no-go there.”  He thought about saying ‘Allison is an Argent,’ but if that memory had somehow slipped through the cracks, Stiles certainly wasn’t going to be the one to remind Derek of it.  You couldn’t pay him enough money in the world to be the one to remind Derek of Kate Argent.  No, thank you, Mr. Man.  He ruffled the back of his hair.  “You don’t really  _know_  Lydia and, wow, I think that exhausts the list of people you’ve even  _met_ …”

Who were still alive.

Fuck.  It actually made sense that Derek was closest to Stiles.  Stiles was Derek Hale’s  _best_ friend in Beacon Hills and they  _weren’t even friends_.  Stiles wasn’t sure he had ever been sadder for anyone.

Derek was still staring at him unblinkingly so Stiles said uneasily and probably totally unnecessarily, “So it kind of makes a twisted sort of  _sense_  that you’re closest to me?”  The silence was awkward so he’d had to fill it and, yeah, should’ve left that silence alone and let it be totally Natalie-Portman-in- _Garden-State_  bonkers.

Derek hung his head with a slight nod.  Because, shit, he’d just been told he was closest to the kid who couldn’t even call them ‘friends.’

The silence kept on and it just got more and more uncomfortable so Stiles made the extremely poor decision to open his mouth again.  He patted Derek’s thigh, which was just an insanely awkward thing to do in an already bananasly awkward situation, and said bluntly, realizing it for the first time as the words came out of his mouth – like an internal monologue he  _could_ _not_  shut off, “I sort of forget that you are a massively  _lonely_  guy, Derek Hale.  I can’t even imagine how hard that is, especially after coming from a big family like you did.”

Derek’s shoulders tensed and he didn’t quite raise his head, though he turned it in Stiles’ direction.  “They’re dead then?” he said quietly.

Hello second thing on a butt-fuck long list of things that Stiles would give anything in the world not to be the one to tell Derek.  His eyes widened and he knee-jerk blurted, “Shit.  No.  I—”

Derek stopped him with a low growl.  “I feel it,” he said starkly, voice bare.  His eyes went squinty.  “Loss.  It’s a constant, beneath my skin, beneath everything.  I just didn’t know what it was for.”

Stiles floundered.  “Derek, I—”

Derek stood suddenly.  “I shouldn’t be here.” 

Fuck  _that_ _._

Stiles grabbed his arm and yanked  _hard_ _._   It took Derek by enough surprise that he actually sat back down.  “I’m your—person-thing.”  Stiles’ uneasy half-grin smoothed into a smirk.  “You’re staying until you know better.”

Derek huffed out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh and he hung his head in acceptance.

Good.  That was one less thing to worry about in the whole Derek-has-no-idea-who-he-is scheme of things.

Derek could stay and Stiles could shower and things could be normal-ish in their not-friends amnesiac dramedy.  Stiles shut his brain down for the next fifteen minutes while the water pounded down on his back and he closed his eyes.

When he walked back into his room, Derek was sitting on his bed and pulling off his shoes.  Stiles was drying his hair when he was struck by the sudden urge to ask: “What did you think I was to you?”  He could remember the disappointment, but not surprise, when he’d called himself an ally.  Like Derek had been hoping for something else.

Derek settled in under Stiles’ covers, yawned, and answered, “Pack.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [What Kind Of Ship Are We Sailing?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152946) by [Mokulule](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mokulule/pseuds/Mokulule)




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